A BDSM Letter to my daughter upon reaching the age of Leatherly Consent

First – this letter is going nowhere, until my daughter (and probably an edit for my son) reaches the age of leatherly consent.   Ie, when she’s an adult and I’m no longer freaking out about every boy she looks at.  (Thank God that only entails Justin Bieber, Thor and Superman right now.  Although she’s eyeing up Rainbow Dash, so maybe it’s a bi thing.  I would be okay with a human Rainbow Dash.   Just please God, not Rarity.)

This is a letter that’s going to take me at least a decade to edit and get right.  

So, first draft, no?  

My dearest girlie,

Daddy was a rebel kinkster, too.    Daddy dyed his hair, Daddy wore chaps, and Daddy pierced things.   Daddy even rebelled against “the man”, raged against “the machine”, and protested to “take back the night”.  

All of the things that your current mother and I roll our eyes over now - we did when we were your age.   Your new friends didn't invent them.   They inherited them.  

Okay, maybe I did them more than your mother did.   She was the kind of girl you’ve never been, darling girl – plain, obedient, and “nice”.    (Until Daddy corrupted her.  You aren't old enough for that story yet.  Maybe when you're 30.)

Not being a "nice girl" isn't a bad thing.   You were never going to turn out as she did – different parents, different parenting – and like Daddy, you’re a headstrong Taurus.  We have to learn through scars – that’s just how our side of the family is.

Being a rebel is an important phase of your life.   You learn how the other side lives, thinks, and believes.   You gain an appreciation for the futility of the struggle and the passion that fuels it, even when it's failing.   It’s always important to see other people’s perspectives and understand how they got there.   First-hand knowledge helps.  

That said…rebellion is a /phase/ of life, not a way of life.   You outgrow it, if you ever grow up at all.   You start to see that yelling and cursing won’t change anyone.   And sometimes, the things you were trying to change didn’t actually need changing.    You come to a deeper understanding of why the “bad things” are generally compromises to salvage the good.

That said, there’s no reason to repeat our mistakes. We made many. I made many. Sometimes I was as dumb as a rock and learned the hard way. Stand on our shoulders and learn from our lessons.

I have a few things I want you to meditate upon, now that you’re old enough to go to play parties.     They are things I pray you already know (because if you do, it’s a sign I raised you well).   If you don’t, and these are dusty, irritating old “Daddy things”, then for the love of God, at least give them lip service.

“Play Parties.”    When you go to a play party?   Go with friends.   Stay with them.   If a cute Top or bottom wants to play with you?   Have someone go with you.  In other words, dear, have a witness.  

In the BDSM world, there are sharks in the waters – and there are crazies waiting for a heroic lifeguard to come along and drown with them.   Use a condom, demand STD tests, be on birth control, have a witness, use a safety call, sterilise the toys, and for the love of God, plan for the worst while you're busy fantasising about the best.  

“Pretty People”.    Pretty people rarely are when the makeup and spotlights are off.  Even less when you get past the skin.   In our lifestyle, it’s the nice people who matter.    The “Pretty” people are fads, and they’ll pass out of your life and leave nothing but drama.   Daddy’s been there – Daddy’s dated a LOT of models.   (Daddy was one once.   Ick, right?)  

Your mother wasn’t supermodel material, but she’s the best mother you and your brother ever had, and a better slave than I deserve. Stick with nice people. They’re real beautiful. That beauty lasts.

“D/s.”   D/s is about relationships.  It is the power structure of an Authority Figure and an obedient figure, once you’ve stripped away all the dress-up and play time.    It’s about being happy with who you are with, and making a relationship work through responsibility and compromise….not through giving random orders or sleeping around and fucking everyone who’ll hold still.  

And if someone demands you call them Master or Mistress from word one (or calls you Master or Mistress from word two), then run far and run fast by word three.    If someone answers ‘slave’ to your first meeting, run faster.

“M/s.”   If you are reading this, and I’m still breathing without a tube?   You aren’t old enough for it.  Period.   This is one of those times to trust your Daddy – M/s is for couples who are settled and mature.   ‘Lifetime’ kind of settled, and 401 (k) kind of mature.  

I remember when you wouldn’t make your own bed.   And some people in their 40s think taking the blame for their own mess is ‘unfair’.    M/s = Maturity*Responsibility.   Do the math.  

“Sex.” By now, I’ve given you the talk. I doubt it went well, and it likely involved ranting. If "fisting" came up, there were probably pleas to become a nun. (A real nun like your teachers, not the kind at parties.)

Just remember: do it safely with someone you trust. STDs/STIs don’t appear on most health checks until after a person is contagious. And “papers” from clinics? They’re easy to fake in five minutes on Publisher.

“ Rape.”   It happens.   The numbers are still appallingly high as of this writing – and the scene is host to all manner of predators.   More than our fair share.   Where better for a shark to hide than in a group of women and men wearing shark skin?   (Yes, Women AND Men.  Both rape and abuse, no matter what your “rebel” friends will tell you, are equal opportunity crimes.)  

If it does happen, know that your mother and I are here for you.  We don’t judge.   We don’t shame.   We’re just…here, for you.    We’ll always keep your bedroom ready for you.   And we have guns.   Oh dear God, do we have guns?   That’s the nice thing about Mommy and Daddy being Republicans, dear.   We always have more guns.  

“Alpha Males/Superior Females.”   Just…don’t go there.   If someone has to tell you they’re superior, they aren’t.   The confident man moves in silence, so I understand why they make so much noise.   Your grandfather was a simple man. While he was alive, his kids had no clue what he did outside of his time at home with us - because we were his world.

When he died we found boxes of awards from charities. We found 4 or 5 university diplomas; masters in engineering, technology specialties, even one in sociology. There was a box of recognition plaques, and another full of copies of journals with professional papers he published.  

They were in the basement, baby girl. They were tossed in a corner, in his basement.

He cared more about his responsibilities to your grandmother and loving us (and you) than about the rest. He once told me the reward for volunteering was the volunteering.

Real men walk in silence.   Real women work without applause.  

"Partners." You’ll find one—eventually, a real one, not just someone you want. (In our family, expect a second or third marriage.) Look for someone kind when no one is watching. If Dominant, they should take responsibility and laugh at themselves. If submissive, they should challenge you when you’re wrong.

There’s so much more you need to know – and I hope you know you can always come to your mother and me for answers.   Just know that we love you.

And that there’s no such thing as too much J-Lube.